The train begins to pull in to the station and we can hear the excited screams of the people who have come to get a glimpse of the tributes. Tommy stands by the doors, ready to meet those strange individuals who will cheer for him in the parade, cry for him if he dies and perhaps root for the person who kills him. He stands with his hands clasped in front of him and his back straight, ready to smile and wave as soon as people see him as per his uncle's instructions.
Sally stands next to him, angling her body away from him, looking angry. I've told her to try and charm the audiences but she ignores everything I say to her. Fine then, let her be that way. It's her own life on the line and I would be lying if I said I wanted her to survive on the expense of my nephew's life.
Peeta, Haymitch, Emalda and I stand behind the tributes, ready to perform as well. Peeta's hand is in mine and we've dressed in matching outfits. All these years and they still get so excited every time they get those first glimpses of us during the Games. We'll smile, we'll wave, we'll walk behind our tributes and, once they are in the waiting car, share a kiss to please the audience. From the moment the doors open until the moment when the tributes are taken away to the hovercrafts we will be inseparable. The star-crossed lovers of District 12 are still immensely popular and we've learned to milk that for all it's worth to help our tributes in the arena. Nobody from Twelve has won since our Games but I have no doubt it would be even harder to seal another victory for us if we didn't take advantage of the Capitol people's adulation.
"Just a minute or two now…" says Haymitch.
"Remember, smile" says Peeta.
I share a look with him and take a deep breath. The train pulls to a stop. Here we go.
As soon as we reach the training facility we are separated from our tributes. Tommy gives us a long look before he is ushered off to be groomed and plucked and prepped. Many other tributes are around when we part ways and I take it as a positive sign that he settles for just a look and doesn't show weakness in front of them.
Once he is out of sight I turn to Peeta and lean my head against his broad chest. One of his arms wraps around me and I feel his chin resting gently against the top of my head. It's difficult to let Tommy out of our sights and know that the next time we see him he won't really be our Tommy anymore. He will be a polished and styled version of himself, made ready to be presented to the people who will probably watch him die on television in the near future.
"Tough deal."
I look up when I hear Johanna Mason's voice. The District 7 mentor sounds casual but not sarcastic. I meet her eyes and wonder if she's actually feeling sorry for us or just came over here to rub salt in our wounds. All these years and I still haven't figured her out – not that I've spent much time trying, either.
"Not really as sob-worthy as having your own kid thrown into the arena" continues Johanna. "Guess you guys should feel lucky you're barren, huh? Bet Nephew Mellark's father doesn't feel as happy about it."
She tosses her head in a way that sends her long, dark ponytail flying over her shoulder, winks at us and then she's off. I wrap my arms around Peeta's waist and watch her retreating figure.
"She should shut her mouth" I say. "She's never had a loved one in her life. She's the last person who should comment."
"You know Johanna" says Peeta. "Always hoping to rouse a reaction."
I'm far too familiar with that. It took me years to learn not to bite at every bait she held out for me. It makes me boil inside to think of all the fun she's had at my expense over the years. If she thinks I'm going to waste a single second getting riled up by her this year she's dead wrong.
"Come on" says Peeta. "Let's go eat. If we're lucky we can get a private table and maybe people won't feel the need to come up and talk to us."
I nod and release my arms from him, taking his hand in mine instead. I look around and frown.
"Where's Haymitch?"
"Probably having a double drink in Chaff's memory."
Chaff, Haymitch's best friend among the mentors, died two years ago from pancreatitis, no doubt brought about by his excessive drinking. His death made both Peeta and I worry about Haymitch's drinking habits but whenever we've tried to make him give up the bottle we've hit a brick wall. All we can do is accept that he'll never give up the flask and do our best to take care of him when he's drunk himself sick.
Hand in hand we head for the dining hall where the mentors spend their time before getting changed for the opening ceremonies. It's a large, modern room which was built five years ago, replacing the much nicer, cozier dining hall that had been there for thirty years. The new hall has three long tables where most of the mentors gather but they do have five smaller tables for those who want to sit in smaller groups. Usually that means old friends eager to catch up and the newest members of the victor group. Those tables are popular with all districts save the careers and go fast so we have to be there early if we want to sit by ourselves.
When we arrive in the dining hall two of those tables are available. Peeta selects the smallest one and we sit down and avoid looking at any of the others. About half of the mentors have gathered by now, many of them from the career districts. They are the only ones who never go for the smaller tables. They're rather like a big pack of wolves, gathering together to congratulate themselves on being, in their own minds, the masters of the Games and good-naturedly arguing over whose tribute will be the winner this year. They are loud and uncouth and far too happy to be back here. We always try to sit as far away from them as possible.
Peeta reaches for my hand on the table and I hold it out for him, our fingers intertwining. We try our best to pretend that the others in the room don't exist. Our romance has never been officially claimed as fake among the mentors but many probably suspect it's all for show. Nevertheless, sitting at our own table and looking deep into each other's eyes, holding hands and whispering sweetly to each other is usually enough to keep people from bothering us. I can only hope it works today because neither one of us wants to talk about Tommy right now.
"What do you think they'll serve for lunch this year?" asks Peeta in a low voice. His tone is sugary sweet, as if he's talking about how lovely I look or how wonderful I smell, or something.
"I hope it's not steak served rare" I reply, attempting a similar tone but failing rather miserably. I sigh and look over at the other mentors who are gathering. "Look at them, Peeta. Listen to them. Everything is the same as the year before and the year before that. Like most of them have accepted it."
"Everything is the same" replies Peeta. "For them. It's only for us District 12 folks that this year is different."
A round of cheers erupts when Finnick Odair walks through the door with the other five mentors from District 4 in tow. He turned forty a couple of months ago but age hasn't diminished his popularity. If anything he seems even more popular now than before, spending most of his spare time in the Capitol bedding women half his age. I expect him to look our way and give us a grin and a wink but all he does when our eyes meet is nod in recognition. I give Peeta a look.
"What's with him?"
"Finnick's always had a soft spot for the weaklings" mutters Peeta and plays with the fabric of his napkin.
I nod slightly. It's true that Finnick seems to have a thing for those who are most vulnerable. Out of his own fellow mentors from Four the one he stays closest to is crazy Annie Cresta, the woman who lost her mind during her Games when her district partner was beheaded right in front of her. The only reason she won was that she was able to swim the longest after the arena was flooded. She's been a wreck of a woman ever since and it seems to me that she gets worse each year. They bring her to the Capitol every year to showcase her like they do all the rest of us but she's never allowed to be part of the mentoring. Four has enough victors to choose from that they don't need her.
Haymitch walks through the door with one arm thrown around a District 7 mentor's shoulders and a large tumbler in his hand. Already working on getting drunk. I could maim him for not staying sharp and focused. Haymitch always spends the train ride to the Capitol observing the tributes closely without them really realizing it. If he sees potential in one or both of them he will lay off the alcohol as best he can and do as much as he can to help them. If he doesn't feel that either tribute shows promise he detaches himself and leaves them to their own devices. It's his way of coping with having to mentor so many children who are doomed to die. The first years I was highly critical of him but by and by I've begun to see the benefits of his mindset. The tributes you grow emotionally attached to are so much harder to lose in the arena.
He detaches himself from the man from Seven and saunters over to Peeta and me.
"Hungry?" he asks.
"Thirsty?" I reply dryly.
He holds up the tumbler and smiles at the liquid inside.
"I figured I should have a last drink before getting serious, and that it ought to be a big one. To celebrate the occasion."
"Do not use the word celebrate" says Peeta icily. "Not even as a joke."
"Fair enough." He downs his drink in several large gulps and slams the tumbler down on the table. "Here. Take the tumbler. I assure you, I will try my best not to touch another one until we're back in Twelve."
"Reassuring" mutters Peeta.
"You're going to need your charms now more than ever" says Haymitch, leaning over Peeta. I can smell the alcohol on his breath from across the table. "So don't get so cheeky with me." He looks at me. "Maybe when the luncheon is over and we are to retreat and relax, you should make sure he has a bit of… fun. He's too tense. He needs to relax."
"He is sitting right here" says Peeta. "Go away Haymitch. Right now you're nothing but an annoyance."
Haymitch gives him a slightly drunk grin before he waltzes off to join some of his friends at one of the longer tables. I see Peeta close his eyes hard and take a deep breath. I can't wait to get him alone, but not for the reason Haymitch suggested. We need some privacy so we can gather our strength and form a strategy.
The mentors' lunch feels like it goes on forever. By the time we are released and allowed to go up to our living quarters Haymitch has begun to sober up. He tries to make conversation in the elevator but he's met only by silence. When we arrive on our floor Peeta and I head for our bedroom but he calls out to us and orders us to join him in the sitting room. Even though we both just want to go hide from the world in our own room we obediently follow after him. Peeta and I sit down and I put my hand on his knee in a gesture that's comforting to both of us.
"There is an issue we need to address" says Haymitch as he takes his seat next to us on the leather sofa. "The elephant in the room, if you will."
"That my brother's son is going to die in the arena just like every other kid we've mentored?" says Peeta with a tired sigh, leaning back and putting his feet up. He closes his eyes and covers them with his arm.
"That Tommy is not the only District 12 tribute this year."
There's a moment of silence. Peeta lifts the arm from his eyes and looks at Haymitch. I put my feet up on the couch and wrap my arms around my knees, feeling deeply unhappy and uncomfortable. Haymitch is right, of course. We've all more or less forgotten about that moment at the dinner table the first night on the train. All I've been able to think about, all Peeta's been able to think about, is Tommy, and how concerned we are. But there is another tribute under our care.
"Sally Masters" I mumble.
"Sally Masters" nods Haymitch. "Let's not kid ourselves, neither one of us is hoping for her to win this thing. We all want your nephew to be crowned victor of these games. I want to know what you want to do. Do you want to forget about Sally and focus everything on Tommy?"
A palpable silence fills the room. The fact that Peeta isn't immediately saying no to that speaks volumes and I'm not sure what to say either. In the end it's a moral decision. Focusing on two tributes in the arena risks spreading us too thin and it's a secret well-kept to the public yet well known among the mentors that once the Games begin one tribute is often favoured above the other. Opt to save one and you might actually succeed. You can't save them both anyway.
Only this time it's different. Is it right to doom Sally to certain death because of our relationship to Tommy? We wouldn't be making that choice based on an objective look at which one has the best potential to survive. We've never played favourites during training, always doing our best to make sure both tributes are prepared. Once they are in the arena we never abandon either one of them but we do put more effort to help the one that seems to have the best odds of survival. I get that Haymitch is offering us to do it differently this year and make it all about Tommy from the start but is that an option we can live with? On the flip side, can we live with any decision that takes away from his chances of survival?
"We can't just leave Sally to her own wits" I say finally. "She deserves an equal chance."
"I know" says Peeta in a monotonous voice. "I just don't see how it's going to work, practically."
"Then here's what we'll do" says Haymitch, leaning forward over the table. I get the feeling he's spent the train ride to the Capitol forming strategies for a number of different scenarios. "The pair of you focus everything on the boy. I will mentor the girl."
"No" I hear myself saying.
Peeta gives me a look and Haymitch's eyebrows shoot up.
"No?" he echoes.
"No." I get up from where I'm sitting and begin to pace slowly back and forth in the room as I try to make sense of my own jumbles thoughts. "I agree that two of us should mentor Tommy and one of us should mentor Sally but we should think carefully about how we divide ourselves. Peeta do you think you can be in charge of Tommy's training? Can you really handle that? Or is it easier for you to leave it to me and Haymitch and mentor Sally instead? Being too emotionally invested is not always an advantage. We've seen it before, with victors mentoring their own children."
"Except Tommy's not my son" argues Peeta.
"About the closest thing you have, though" Haymitch points out.
"I want to be Tommy's mentor" says Peeta firmly. "I need to be Tommy's mentor. I can't focus on Sally. How can I mentor her when what I really want is for her to be killed at the cornucopia, quickly and as painlessly as possible?"
Hearing sweet, gentle Peeta spell it out so grimly makes me cringe. I stop and wrap my arms across my chest, biting my lower lip.
"You stay with Tommy, then" nods Haymitch. "What about you, Katniss?"
"I think… I think I should mentor Sally."
"Why?" There's a touch of coldness in Peeta's voice and I can't look at him.
"Because Haymitch is the best mentor out of the three of us." When I turn my head and face my husband he doesn't look angry or upset like I'd expected but rather curious. "I want Tommy to have the best possible conditions going in. I'm good at the combat training and survival training and I can do that for them both. Once they are in the arena and sponsors need to be sweet talked I can't hold a candle to you boys. And let's face it, I don't understand the game half as well as you two do either."
"Yes you do" argues Haymitch softly.
"Traditionally women mentor girl tributes" I continue. "It makes sense that I should take on Sally. As much as I want Tommy to win this thing I think his odds are better with Haymitch than with me."
Peeta rises and walks over to me.
"Have you considered what Tommy will think?" he asks. "I'm not saying I think you're wrong but he might not see it the way we do. If you can take that step back and choose to mentor Sally for Tommy's sake then I think it's a wonderful gesture on your part but you need to be okay with the implications of it."
I feel even more uncomfortable all of a sudden and swallow hard to try and get the lump out of my throat.
"Tommy knows I love him. And like I said, tradition is that women mentor female tributes. He'll understand. I'll still help him during training."
Peeta turns and looks at Haymitch.
"What do you think, old man?"
"I think you might find yourself in a world of pain if you ever refer to me as old again."
"Be serious."
Haymitch sighs and leans forward. He's quiet for a moment and then looks up at us with a serious expression on his face.
"Ultimately it's your choice. I think there's a lot of logic to what Katniss proposes but you have to be sure that you can forego your nephew in favour of some girl you'd never seen until a few days ago."
"I won't be foregoing him" I say. "This is what's best for him. I'm giving him the best possible odds."
"As long as you're sure."
I nod slightly and look at Peeta. He looks uncomfortable but doesn't demand that I stay with him and mentor Tommy. I think he understands my line of thinking and he must be agreeing with me or he wouldn't be okay with it.
"Then it is settled" concludes Haymitch.
"Then it is settled" I agree, trying to stop myself from trembling.
That evening we climb into bed and lay down next to each other. It's always difficult, the first night back in the Capitol. So many troubling emotions associated with this city, too many bad memories to even begin to count them. Both of us detest how it's become routine to us now, the proceedings before the Games. Something like this ought to never be part of someone's life.
Normally the week of training is a time when we live in some form of peace. As much peace as the upcoming Games can offer, that is. We still have the chance to influence and help our tributes. The media leaves us alone because we're busy training and coaching. We know that the worst part of the year is right around the corner but it's the calm before the storm and we want to try and create a comforting environment for the children we mentor. Compared to what it's like to see them in the arena this is relatively okay.
We usually have good sex during training week. A month before the reaping all female mentors receive an injection that prevents them from ovulating that month, as the Capitol doesn't want to have to deal with PMS or tampons or anything else that makes the female victors human, nor do they want to risk a female victor ending up pregnant by any Capitol liaisons they might have during the Games. It's one thing for victors to cavort with the people in the city, it's another thing entirely for us to breed with them. This means that the month of the games is the only time of the year when Peeta and I can have sex without worrying about getting pregnant.
The first few years we didn't have sex at all during the month of the Games, feeling wrong to enjoy ourselves in the midst of so much suffering and death. Then one year we lost both our tributes at the initial bloodbath and sought comfort in each other which led to a desperate kind of sex that left us feeling at least a little bit easier at heart. From that point on we've seen sex during the Games as a form of coping mechanism, a way to keep some good in our lives in the middle of all the horror. It's almost an act of defiance, to have something so precious and delightful in an environment where those with power want to suppress and oppress us. Knowing that we can't get pregnant during this time makes us inhibited in a way we can never be otherwise and there are few things that satisfy me as much as the feel of Peeta inside me with no barriers between us, letting him climax without pulling out first. I crave that feeling, long for it during the other eleven months of the year when our options are much more limited.
Tonight as I lay next to my husband in the darkness I wonder if there will be any sex at all this year. I'm not in the mood for it, not one bit, and I can't imagine that he is either. I can't even bring myself to feel bitter or upset that we'll likely miss out on the best sexual part of the year. Our lovemaking during the Games is a way for us to cling to one another and reaffirm our togetherness. Against all of Snow's designs this time of year always brings us closer together even if we've had rough times earlier in the year. The president wanted to drive a wedge between us by binding us together but the month of the games we are closer than any other time. Peeta once said that our genuine closeness despite Snow's best effort to drive us apart seems to turn me on more than anything else when we are in the Capitol. I hope that isn't true. I don't want anything positive in my life to be related to Snow in any way, especially not this.
I reach out my hand and let the tips of my fingers play with the curls on Peeta's head, finding comfort in the light touch.
"I wonder if anything is going to be the same this year" I say.
"I don't know."
"I'm so glad we at least still have each other."
He turns his head to look at me and after another moment moves to lie on his side. He looks so sad and desolate, with little of the hope and warmth I'm used to seeing in him. It makes my heart hurt to see it.
"I'm glad I have you" he tells me.
"I'm glad I have you" I reply.
"This year… These Games… It will be like nothing we've ever lived through before. Worse than all the other years."
"We'll get through this" I say. "Somehow."
"Will we?" he asks in a sigh.
"We can get through anything. As long as we have each other."
"This is never going to be over. You know? Just like our problems weren't over when we had won our Games. When we return home it will either be with a boy dealing with the same anguish we dealt with, only he won't have a district partner who shared his experiences… or we'll return home with his body in a coffin."
"Never mind that now" I say. "There will be plenty of time to deal with that later. Right now let's just think of Tommy and getting him prepared. Okay?"
"You're right." He smiles faintly. "He made a good impression during the parade. Don't you think?"
I smile as well and nod. He did probably make an impression. Caesar and Claudius made a big show out of pointing out how he was related to Peeta and me and the stylists brought back the fire theme to tie in with Peeta's and my year.
My mind goes to when we sat down for dinner afterward and the smile is gone. I couldn't bring myself to tell Tommy that I won't be mentoring him. He was energetic and in more positive spirits than I've seen him since Reaping Day, fuelled by the energy from the crowds during the parade. Sally, on the flip side, barely said a word and ignored the rest of us as best she could. Nobody cared about her during the parade and she knew it. There's a part of me that wonders what it must be like to feel like the whole world is against you or simply doesn't care about you, and I wonder what her family is thinking and feeling back at home. These are the thoughts I must draw on in order to be a fair mentor to her.
"So when do you think we should tell Tommy?" I ask Peeta.
"Let's wait a few days. We'll train them both together, same as we do every year. They don't need to know anything beyond that until the day we prep them for their interviews. I don't want to know what strategy you come up with for Sally and I think it's better if you don't know much about Tommy's."
"I'm not going to use anything I know about your strategy for him against him" I argue, feeling offended.
"I think it's better if you don't even have to worry about doing something that might work against him, or doing something that would sabotage Sally for that matter." He rolls over on his back again and sighs. "We should get some sleep. We've got one hell of a week ahead of us."
I scoot closer and snuggle up to him, resting my head on his chest the way I've done for so many nights over the past seventeen years. As we lie there in the darkness and try to go to sleep I wonder what it's like for the victors who have to mentor their own children. Peeta and I are the only married couple among the victors, even if there have been some relationships between others over the years. The president doesn't allow for victors to marry each other, except for Peeta and me. I can't imagine going through these upcoming four days and the Games that will follow if I didn't have Peeta with me. What must it be like to have your spouse, the other parent to your child, back home in the district while you carry the responsibility of getting your child home safe on your own shoulders? How does anybody stay sane in those situations?
I snuggle even closer to Peeta, so grateful for his presence here with me in the dark that I don't know how to express it in words.